


Predicament

by orphan_account



Category: White Collar
Genre: Emotional Abuse, Handcuffs, Kidnapped, Neal whump, Physical Abuse, Police Brutality, beaten up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal Caffrey is in quite the quandary. When he's kidnapped by a group of goons who work for the man he's just busted with Peter, he knows he's in trouble. But when he's picked up by a corrupt cop who knows who he is and only wants to hurt him, will he be able to survive? Will Peter get there in time?</p><p>(Hoping to make this a multi chapter fic dealing with a lot of abuse and the fallout from it. Lots of hurt/comfort, Neal whump, protective Peter)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Predicament

Chapter 1

 

It was the knocking that first woke Neal up. He’d been exhausted after working the past few nights with Peter trying to bust a gambling den and he hadn’t even made it to his bed when he’d arrived home at some ungodly hour in the morning. But when the knocking quickly turned into banging his eyelids fluttered open and he found himself sprawled on the couch, still wearing his clothes from the previous night.

“Caffrey! We know you’re in there!” someone shouted from the other side of his door and he thanked whatever had possessed him to not only put a deadbolt on the door but also to lock it last night. He remembered seeing a couple of the guys evade the FBI agents who’d swooped into the gambling den and figured it’d be a smart idea to make it a little harder for them to get to him. 

Neal got to his feet, an ache settling in his shoulders from sleeping on the couch instead of the bed but he ignored it, instead quickly grabbing his phone and making for the balcony. But he was too late. 

The door finally gave way and three big, burly men barrelled into the guest room, guns out. 

“Hold it!” one of them shouted and Neal froze. 

The man in charge, a tall, broad shouldered guy with a scar running down his face aimed his gun at Neal. “You’re coming with us Caffrey. Boss wants to see you.”

“Uh, I don’t know if I wanna see him,” Neal replied with a halfhearted smile. He knew there was no escape right now but if these guys underestimated him – like most did – then he could probably ditch them later on and call Peter. He’d already slipped the phone into his back pocket so they didn’t know he had it on him.

“Well that’s too bad, cause he wants you. And there ain’t gonna be much of you left when he’s through with you,” Scarface was saying. “Taylor, tie his hands.”

The shorter henchmen, who Neal assumed was Taylor, took a step forward. He took a step back, his hands raising in surrender although it was the very last thing he wanted to do.

“Is that meant to encourage me to go with you? You’re not really selling it to me,” Neal said, knowing it wouldn’t get him anywhere.

Taylor approached him again, gun drawn. “You’re forgetting whose in charge here pretty boy,” he said. He jabbed him in the ribs with the barrel of his gun. Neal gritted his teeth as the metal dug into his side but remained silent. “Give me your hands.”

Seeing no way out Neal sighed softly and held out his hands. The other henchman grabbed his wrists and quickly zip tied them together. Tightly. Neal winced at that. This could hurt, he realized, and a cold shiver of fear jabbed at his gut. One of the henchmen grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch and folded it over his tied wrists so any innocent bystander would be none the wiser. Then they grabbed his arms and Scarface led the way back downstairs and out into the street where they pushed him roughly into the backseat of an old Lincoln Town Car. The henchmen got into the back on either side of him and Scarface drove. 

He must have slept all day, Neal thought as he saw how dark it was outside. Thunder rumbled overhead and fat drops of water started hitting the windshield as they drove.

Suddenly he realized something. 

“You do know I’ve got a tracking anklet on right?” he said casually. 

“You what?” Scarface asked, pulling the big car over jerkily.

“A GPS tracking anklet. So that my FBI handler always knows where I am. He’ll follow you. You’re gonna have to cut it off before we go anywhere,” Neal explained going for an exasperated tone. 

“These two aren’t rocket scientists but I’m pretty sure they achieve that Caffrey,” Scarface said, spitting out Neal’s name with contempt. “Hold him down,” Scarface said to Taylor, “Johnson get the thing off him. Now.”

Taylor turned to him and laid a heavy arm over his chest and another over his lap making Neal writhe under his hand.

“Don’t move Caffrey or Johnson might cut you with his knife,” Taylor said, bringing his upper arm higher so he forced Neal’s chin back and pressed down on his throat.

The other man, Johnson, pulled out a serrated edge blade and Neal visibly swallowed, trying to force down his fear or at least use the adrenalin to his advantage. Johnson tugged up the hem of his pants and dug the knife under the anklet. Neal gasped quietly as the blade nicked his ankle repeatedly when the man sawed through the tough band. Finally the knife broke through the anklet and the henchman passed the anklet through to Scarface who rolled down his window and dropped it to the ground.

Neal started to feel his sock getting wet and he realized he was bleeding. It didn’t feel too life-threatening so he gritted his teeth as the car sped off again. He’d spotted cameras all along this stretch of road so once the anklet had been cut Peter would be getting the alarm. They’d be pulling up the CCTV feeds in minutes and a black and white would be on their tail before they got back to wherever they were going. If everything went to plan, he thought, which it rarely ever does, his analytical mind added with a touch of anxiety.

The car sped through the rain which was getting heavier and heavier now, taking corners a little too fast now that they realized how close they’d come to getting tailed by the FBI in record time. 

“Why’re you wearing the anklet?” Scarface asked him. 

“So they know where I am,” Neal replied calmly, not giving anything away. 

“He _knows_ that you piece of shit,” Taylor said, elbowing him in the ribs with as much force as he could muster in the cramped backseat.

Neal gasped and doubled over, winded from the blow. Goddamnit he was still so tired from the last two nights and it was making him more sensitive to this rough handling. If Peter didn’t catch up to him soon he didn’t know how much more of this mistreatment he could take.

The car raced dangerously through the rain with Scarface swerving around slower, more cautious drivers and edging through orange lights left, right and centre. It was making Neal nervous considering he was sitting in the middle of the backseat and not wearing a seatbelt – if Scarface had an accident he’d go flying through the windshield. But, on the other hand, with stupid, erratic driving like this they were bound to attract the attention of any beat cops.

Think of the devil and he shall appear, thought Neal, when he heard the sirens and saw the red and blue lights flickering behind them.

“Fucking cops,” Scarface groaned. “Put the jacket over his hands,” he ordered the henchmen.

Johnson grabbed Neal’s jacket and laid it over his lap so his zip tied wrists were hidden from sight. The policeman walked up the side of the car and Scarface rolled down his window. The rain was letting up a little so it was only drizzling. It still looked mighty cold and miserable out there though, Neal thought.

“License and registration,” the cop said. He was holding a torch and he shone it into the backseat making Neal squint.

Scarface handed over the paperwork and his license and the cop studied it before giving it back.

“You realize how all-over-the-shop your driving was?” the cop asked. “Have you been drinking?”

He shone the torch into the backseat at Neal again. Neal really wished he’d stop doing that, he was dog-tired and was just hoping Peter was sending out a BOLO on him right this minute instead of this beat cop blinding him every two minutes. 

“Who’s your passenger?” the cop asked, interrupting Scarface who’d been in the middle of telling him how much of a teetotaler he was.

“Ah no one. Just one of our friends,” Scarface said.

“There a reason why there’s three of you in the back with you driving? Seems a bit strange,” the cop said. He leaned against the car window and frowned down at Scarface.

“They like to play corners,” Scarface replied just as fast.

“I’m gonna need you to get out of the car,” the cop said, pointing at Neal.

While Taylor was taking his time getting out of the car so that Neal could slide over, Johnson grabbed his knife and thrust it under Neal’s jacket, slicing through the zip ties and Neal’s arm, making him gasp.

“Out. Now,” the cop ordered, shining the torch back in Neal’s face.

“I’m coming,” Neal replied, relieved to be finally out of the car. He pressed the jacket against the outside of his wrist where Johnson’s knife had cut him, trying to staunch the bleeding. It wasn’t a deep cut but he was drained and losing blood wasn’t the best option right now.

“You want to tell me why I found this after your driving dropped it?” the cop said, holding up Neal’s tracking anklet, when Taylor had gotten back into the car to get out of the rain.

Neal waited until Taylor’s door slammed shut then he turned to the cop and, in a low whisper, said, “My name is Neal Caffrey. I’m working with Agent Peter Burke at the FBI on work release. These guys just kidnapped me and I told them to cut it off so that it’d alert Peter to wear I was.”

“You gotta be kidding me right?” the cop said, frowning at Neal and replacing his torch on his belt. Neal noticed his right hand reaching for the handcuffs.

“What? No, I’m not kidding you,” Neal replied quickly. “I’ve got a 2 mile radius with that thing. I know where these guys were going to take me and it’s within that 2 mile radius. Peter wouldn’t know I was in trouble unless the anklet came off.”

“You expect me to believe that?” the cop said, looking at Neal like he was some sort of lower lifeform.

“Uh, _yeah_ I expect you to believe that,” Neal replied, getting frustrated. “Look if you just call the FBI and ask for Agent Peter Burke he can”-

“I’ll be doing no such thing. You’re a felon and you’ve just cut off your tracking anklet,” the cop said.

He grabbed Neal’s shoulders and spun him around before slamming him against the side of the car.

“And you’re coming with me,” he said gruffly.

He grabbed Neal’s wrist and cuffed him tightly, the cold metal biting into the skin on his wrists. Then he seized Neal’s other wrist and pulled it painfully behind his back, securing him. The handcuffs felt far too tight and Neal suddenly started feeling sick. And very afraid. The cop gripped Neal’s shoulder and hauled him towards the driver’s side of the car.

“This is a wanted felon,” he said to Scarface. “I don’t wanna know how you had him and I don’t wanna know why. All I want is for you pieces of shit to go back into whatever hole you crawled out of. I’m taking him back to the precinct. And you can tell Mr Roberts that he’s welcome.” 

“Mr…you’re working for that guy?” Neal almost shouted as thunder cracked overhead. Francis Roberts was the guy that had been orchestrating the gambling dens. He was the man that Scarface, Taylor and Johnson had just kidnapped him on behalf of.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Caffrey but it’s high time I took you downtown,” the cop said. He waved off Scarface who grinned at Neal as he rolled the window up and gunned the Lincoln down the almost empty street. “Time for you to get a real idea about what justice is all about.”

“Goddamnit! Get your hands off me!” Neal shouted, struggling against the officer’s iron-hard grip on his arm as he just about dragged him towards the cop car.

“Shut your trap Caffrey,” the cop said, bringing his arm back and landing a punch to Neal’s jaw that almost felled him.

Neal was seeing stars after the punch and it was all he could do to keep his legs under him. If he fell right now, the hold the cop had on his arm would almost certainly dislocate his shoulder. The cop tugged him back to the cop car, opened the door to the backseat and shoved him in. Neal fell into the backseat of the cop car, landing heavily on his shoulder and cuffed hands, hitting the opposite door with his head. He groaned as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. The cop slammed the door behind him and got into the driver’s seat.

“Hope you’re ready to have some fun. Mr Roberts ain’t happy with you boy and I’m about to show you how unhappy he is,” the cop said, before turning the key in the ignition. He floored it and Neal was thrown backwards against the seat, his cuffed wrists pressed agonizingly against his back.

“Damnit Peter,” Neal breathed as he sped off in the back of the cop car, “please find me.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was still raining when Agent Peter Burke got to the intersection where Neal's anklet was transponding from. It didn't take him long to find it, the flashing red light was reflecting off the puddles of water around it. He picked it up and noticed that it had a sticky substance on it. He put the anklet in his other hand and moved his fingers into the light. And saw blood. What the hell was Neal doing, he thought. How the hell does his tracking anklet end up here, on a deserted block, drenched in blood? Either way, he knew it wasn't good. He turned to Jones who had gotten out of the passenger side of the car. 

"We need to pull the feed from these cameras!" Peter shouted over the thunder. The storm was starting to pick up again. "I don't think Neal did this voluntarily, the anklet is covered in blood," he said, getting into the driver's seat. "I think we've got a problem on our hands."

"You don't think he ran?" Jones asked. 

"I don't think he ran," Peter replied, doing a U-turn and heading back to headquarters. "I think he was taken."


End file.
